“This is everything?”
Joanna stood beside Michael, staring at the traveling case that contained his everyday clothes. She’d rifled through it when he produced it from beneath his bed, but had frowned and stepped back after only a moment.
“This is everything,” he confirmed, wondering why his clothing was important. What did she want with a few shirts, several pairs of trousers, stockings, and smallclothes?
She swung her gaze to his. “You’re a solicitor—surely you don’t see clients in this attire?”
“Oh, of course not. I have finer clothes for clients.” He bent and pulled another case from under his bed, flicking open the latch and throwing back the lid for her inspection.
“Better,” she said, running her hand over a red silk waistcoat. Was she remembering that he’d worn it at their wedding?
He did, every time he put it on.
“This will do nicely.”
“For what?”
She lingered a moment longer over the waistcoat before answering. “For traveling. It is much easier to travel as a person of some fortune. One gets better service and more privacy that way, and we’ll need the privacy.”
“We’re traveling together?” He balled his hands into fists at his sides. Naturally there was more to the story than she’d told him. There always was. “And why will we need privacy?”
“There are still things to discuss about your stay in Cork, and we won’t want those conversations to be overheard.” She returned her attention to his clothing and began spreading things out on the bed.
“You will be playing the grand lady, then. But if I act as your footman or groom, any time we spend alone together will arouse suspicion.”
“We could probably still communicate with relative security, but traveling as a gentleman and his lady wife will be much less complicated.”
“Certainly.” Less complicated for her, perhaps. He was sure she’d played the part of another man’s wife more than once even before she’d become his. He, on the other hand, had never been anyone’s husband but hers, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to be that any more.
The skepticism must have been apparent in his voice because she turned to appraise him instead of his garments. “I believe you’re up to the task. You have the education and bearing of a gentleman. And I have funds enough for any expenses we might incur...including a new wardrobe, should one be warranted.”
She grinned and he felt his hands relaxing a little. At least she had a plan, even if she’d only give it to him in bits and pieces.
“You aren’t going to travel the countryside looking like a laborer’s widow,” he returned. “Is a new wardrobe being readied for you?”
“No—I already have the necessary items. Cravats?” She picked up his three best shirts, the red waistcoat, and a navy blue cutaway coat, putting them in their own separate pile on his pillow. As he crossed the small chamber to search for a suitable neckcloth, she continued, “I have a coach and horses waiting outside the city, and my more expensive things are with them.”
“Easier to blend in here if you don’t look like a person of some fortune.” That was how he walked The Liberties at night—dressed in the same manner as his neighbors, attracting as little attention as possible.
“Exactly so. See? You aren’t so terribly out of your depth.”
He returned with a length of white linen and handed it to her. “I suppose I do have some experience with deception. You know how hard I tried to belong at University.” He had claimed to be a distant relation to the Earl of Waterford during his time at Trinity, keeping his actual origin to himself—a nobleman’s kin, however distant, was more welcome than the son of a poor laborer.
“You did belong there,” she said firmly. “And you may actually be his lordship’s cousin. Wasn’t your grandmother a Talbot?”
“She was. I always wondered if it wasn’t her relations that paid for my education.”
Joanna wound the cravat around her hand. “You never found out who it was?”
He shook his head, taking the bundled linen from her and putting it with the other approved articles. “Whoever it was, he or she does not want to be found. Perhaps Wellesley can discover the truth. Or perhaps he already knows.” Michael paused, his hand still on the pile of clothing. “What does he know about me? Other than my penchant for taking nightly strolls around The Liberties.”
“He knows that you’re the Catholic son of a laborer, yet university educated. That your mother died at your birth, and your father was killed in a fight with his landlord when you were a boy.” She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it with a gentle pressure. “He knows that you are neither anti-English nor anti-Protestant, but you favor Catholic emancipation. And that you fulfill every obligation you take on.”
“He knows all that, yet he’s invited me to become one of his trusted spies when I am his opposite in nearly every way? Why would he do that?”
The incredulity was clear in his voice, and he suspected it was written plainly on his face as well for Joanna gave his hand another squeeze.
“Because I vouched for you.”
“You did?”
“Sir Arthur needed someone in Ireland in case the French made another invasion attempt, someone the people trusted. And I knew you would do anything to protect this city, this country.”
“So you convinced him to make me a part of it.”
“You’re a good fit for this group, for the work we will be doing.” Her gaze dropped to his chest for the briefest of moments. “And I needed a pretext to see you again.”
That statement spawned a dozen more questions in his mind, but only one stumbled from his lips. “A pretext to see your own husband?”
“The longer I was away, the harder it became to return to you...”
Her fingers shifted against his, and he reflexively ran his thumb over the back of her hand to soothe her. “But fetching me to Wellesley gave you a reason to contact me again, without involving your pride.”
“Yes.”
“And here you are confessing it all to me anyway.” Her hand was cold but steady in his grasp. If she was nervous or tense she wasn’t showing it.
Not that he was surprised.
“There will always be secrets between us because of what we both are. But those are professional secrets, a necessity for people like us.” She took a half-step closer to him, her sky-blue eyes focused on his dark ones. “But we kept too many other secrets from each other when we were together, and I don’t want to make that mistake again.”
“Nor do I. From this moment forward, we will be as open with each other as possible.”
Michael was suddenly taken with the urge to kiss her, to seal the bargain as they used to do, holding each other close. But he shook off the idea. Even if they reconciled—and he was not at all sure they would—it was too soon to be that intimate with her. Instead, he released her hand and began gathering up his rejected clothing to return it to its case.
“What other preparations need we make for this journey?”
~~~
Two days later Joanna stood outside the stable housing her horses, ticking off the conditions of Michael’s agreement in her mind one last time as she waited for him to arrive.
One: she’d introduced him to Cara Campbell the day before and had discreetly watched as he questioned Cara with the intensity of a French revolutionary in possession of a Royalist sympathizer. In the end he’d approved her as pro tempore Protector, spending much of the afternoon acquainting her with The Liberties in general and Hell in particular.
Two and three: Michael’s close friend, Fion Nash, had agreed—with considerably less turmoil—to take over the children’s reading lessons as well as the investigation into a missing will for Michael’s one current client.
Four was still a bit of a loose end. Their visit to the tailor had gone well enough, with the proprietor promising to hire extra help to complete their order on time. But Joanna wouldn’t know if he’d been successful until Michael appeared with the items.
The thought of him brought to mind another list she’d been mentally keeping—the list of things she needed to tell him before they reached Cork. Particularly the fact that she—
“Good morning, my lady.” He approached her with a sardonic smile, setting down the small trunk he carried to remove his hat and bow deeply before her. Clad in rather plain breeches and tailcoat with just a hint of embroidered waistcoat peaking out, he looked like any other gentleman preparing for travel. But that smile lit his face, and the hat had tousled his dark hair.
For just a moment, Joanna wished she could kiss him hello and smooth his hair as if they were a happy couple.
Instead she curtsied with equal deference, dropping her gaze to his somewhat battered boots. She left off her Dublin accent for the more cultured tones of the English upper classes. “And a good morning to you, my lord.”
A stable lad came to take the trunk, loading it onto the waiting carriage. Michael handed her in—with no outward sign of being affected by her touch—then settled himself on the rear-facing seat. “Tell me the rest of this traveling plan. How will we be known? Is there anything special I am to do?”
“Since there is no need to conceal who we are, we will simply be Mr. and Mrs. Devlin, a solicitor from Dublin and his doting wife.” The carriage jerked into motion and Michael’s knee brushed against hers. He again appeared not to have even noticed, and Joanna sighed inwardly. The next three days were going to be long indeed.
“That should be easy enough, then.”
Hadn’t she told him something similar only a few days ago? And it usually was easy to play the wife, to mimic the qualities the upper classes found pleasing in a woman. But sitting in the close confines of the carriage with the man she’d loved and left, it suddenly seemed a much greater task.
Fortunately, they had the business in Cork to discuss.
“There are nine others that Sir Arthur has invited from all over Britain. Some of them are peers with varying degrees of power, some gentry, and some who make their living with their hands.”
He snorted. “Lords and laborers. That should be interesting.”
“I think everyone will manage to get along in the interest of defending their country,” she replied.
“I’m sure you’re right. Am I the only Irishman?”
She stretched her legs a bit. “You are, though at least one of the lords has an estate in Ireland.”
His head dropped back against the carriage wall. “Yes, that’s nearly the same.”
“I only meant that you may already know of one of them.” Why was he being so contrary all of a sudden?
“Any women?”
And just like that he was back in her good graces. How many other men would even think to ask about female participants in this kind of organization? She stretched her legs again, sliding her feet across the floor until they bumped up against the far seat. “Only me, though I strongly suspect there are women who will indirectly be important parts of what we accomplish.”
He slouched down in his seat, folding his hands together over his stomach. “What are we to accomplish exactly? What will we be gathering intelligence about?”
“The overarching theme is defeating Napoleon and his army, but you’ll be watching and listening for anything that might compromise the security of the realm as you go about your usual business.”
His mouth pulled into a smile at that. “‘The security of the realm,’ is it? That sounds mighty important.”
“Not more important than ensuring the safety of your neighbors,” she replied, patting his knee. “Just a way to do so on a larger scale.”
“Yet, at least in my case, still working on a small scale.” He hauled his feet up onto the seat, inches away from her hip. “You should have led with that when you first came to me.”
“To appeal to your sense of protectiveness? Yes, that would have been a good way to get your attention.” Not to be outdone—and because he looked exceedingly comfortable—Joanna untangled her feet from the striped carriage dress she wore and kicked them up onto the seat across from her, crossing her legs at the ankle.
He reached over and carefully re-draped her skirt, making sure her legs were covered all the way down to the ribbons on her shoes. Whatever had made him so cross before had apparently passed. “So basically, when I return to Dublin I’ll resume patrolling The Liberties and just send word to Wellesley when I think I’ve come across something useful to him?”
“That’s it exactly. I don’t yet know if I am to be the go-between or if it will be someone else, but someone will always be in the area to convey messages to him.”
“And to help evaluate the importance of the message?”
“Like a partner? Perhaps.”
They debated the pros and cons of such a system until it was time to stop for a change of horses, then speculated on the practicalities of having messengers all over the country until the next change. By the time they’d run out of topics to discuss, the sun had nearly set and the carriage was pulling into the yard at what appeared to be a well-run inn.
“We’re not traveling at night, then?” he asked, taking his feet down and looking for his hat.
She found it in a corner of the carriage, near where her bonnet had landed when she’d tossed it away. “No need for this trip. We have four more days before you’re due in Cork and we can make it there in three while the sun is up. I’m not sure my driver would condone driving Irish roads in the dark, anyway.”
“Not as smooth as some of England’s,” he answered with a short laugh. “The Romans never conquered Ireland, so they never laid roads here.” He opened the carriage door and jumped down, letting the steps down himself before offering her his hand. “Ready, my darling wife?”
She allowed him to hand her out, then threaded her arm through his and pulled him close. “There is something I need to tell you first.” In all their conversation that day, she’d completely forgotten about the list of information she meant to impart to him. Some of the items had been mentioned, but there was one rather important matter that had been neglected.
He covered her hand with his, large and warm. “What is it?”
“I didn’t bring a maid,” she whispered. “And I cannot get into—or out of—my clothing without help.”
“The innkeeper’s wife or one of the serving girls would suffice, surely?”
She went up on her tiptoes to rest her cheek against his, bringing her mouth a fraction of an inch away from his ear. “They would if I weren’t carrying secret correspondence and weapons on my person.”
Michael’s whole body tensed beneath her touch. “It has to be me, doesn’t it.”
She kissed his check and pulled away, flashing him her most flirtatious smile. “Yes it does.”